Schrodinger Is a Cat
by megdar
Summary: It's gratifying, if a little disruptive, to learn safety protocols really work.


Karen Murray washed the dinner dishes in her quiet house. At nine pm, her neighborhood was as quiet as her house, a residential area in a quiet corner of Colorado Springs, inhabited by police officers, teachers, and office workers. She looked forward to getting into bed by ten and actually getting some rest for a change. When she heard the first noise, it was muffled enough that she almost ignored it, and would have, if a visible flare of light hadn't accompanied the second noise. Karen set down her last pot in the soapy water and reached for a dishtowel, keeping her eyes on her neighbor's basement. She had an agreement with this particular neighbor to keep an eye out for each other's property when they could and as this neighbor was often away from home, Karen was used to taking quick stock of any goings on next door. As far as Karen knew, her neighbor was away from home on an assignment with the air force. Lights and noises coming from the basement of a supposedly empty house were cause for alarm in Karen's book. She reached for the phone, still peering through the dark, and dialed Sam's cell.

Colonel Samantha Carter's cell phone buzzed ineffectually in the pocket of her coat, thrown onto the ancient couch in one corner of her basement lab. The Colonel herself concentrated all her energies on the task in front of her, welding what appeared to be a small toaster on top of what appeared to be a large hose clamp. Brig. Gen. Jack O'Neill watched from a safe distance, a slight scowl on his face. Jack didn't appreciate the guerrilla-like way the Asgard always seemed to ambush the SCG with new problems and information and the current situation was no exception. He had full confidence in Carter's ability to figure out whatever the little grey guys where missing, but the fact that Thor brought this problem to them only after it had reached critical importance, with a definite and ticking time line attached annoyed Jack. A lot.

Karen followed the protocol she had discussed with Sam the first year of their acquaintance, when Sam admitted to finally feeling secure to trust Karen with a neighborly safety protocol. Karen had always thought Sam's protocols a bit overblown, but knowing her to be military went a long way to create tolerance on Karen's part for whatever procedure her friend and neighbor wanted to instill. As Sam's voice mail picked up, Karen reviewed the keywords and phrases in her head, preparing for her part.

"Sam, it's Karen, was just washing the dishes and noticed a candle in the window. I'll try your other number." Karen hung up and checked her address book for Sam's alternate emergency number before she exited her house to get a closer look at the light in the basement.

Jack watched as Carter put the finishing touches on her welded masterpiece—actually, it was one of the ugliest things Jack had ever seen, but he'd seen some things uglier in art museums. He let a smile fight its way through his scowl as he saw Carter's grin of accomplishment at a job well done, but the smile faltered guiltily as the vibration of his cell phone in his pants pocket jarred his body.

"O'Neill," he barked into the phone, annoyed with himself.

"Brigadier General Jack O'Neill?" a feminine voice asked.  
"Who is this?" He barked again, this time annoyed with the unidentified caller.

"Schrödinger is a cat, Sir," the voice said.

"What?" Jack asked, astonished. He had not been expecting to hear those words and almost blanked on their meaning. The voice repeated,

"Schrödinger is a cat, Sir," this time with a little force on the Sir.

Jack shook the thoughts around in his head and replied, " But he hates tuna." He stared at Carter, who by this time had paused in her attentions to her workstation to listen to his end of the conversation. By the word tuna, Carter was striding towards Jack, reaching for the phone.

"Karen?" Carter asked the voice.

"Sam?" The voice asked back.

"The love of your life was a Hebrew," Carter turned away from Jack as she said Karen's identification code, embarrassed for some reason. She noticed him raise an eyebrow as she turned. Karen returned with the phrase, "And yours was something I won't mention." Sam winced at the return phrase, the real reason she didn't want to be facing Jack at the moment. She determined to find something better for her next safety code.

"Sam," Karen's voice cut into Sam's rueful thoughts, "I was washing the dishes and noticed a candle in the window." Sam winced again, although this time for not remembering she had a very observant and responsible neighbor.

"Upper or lower," Sam asked, better safe than sorry.

"Lower," came the reply, putting Sam's mind at ease.

"Oh, ok, Karen, I know, don't worry about that."

"Sam?" Karen was dubious, "are you sure? I know you're not home but I'm standing outside right now and I think there's someone in your basement."

Sam almost laughed out loud, imaging her petite neighbor prowling the yard, peering in the windows.

"Truly, Karen, it's ok." Sam looked apologetically at Jack before going the full measure, "Actually, I am home." Jack stepped forward, commanding words on his tongue but Sam ignored him, saying, "I must have snuck in on you. A friend dropped me off," Jack snorted and continued to look commanding, but stopped his advance. "I'll meet you at the front door," she agreed with Karen and hung up the cell phone.

."I know what you're going to say, Sir, but first listen, ok?" Sam held out his phone and looked imploringly at him, so Jack only wrinkled his nose and said, "No you don't." Sam raised an eyebrow at him until he nodded for her to go ahead with the explanation.

"You know I trust Karen as much as it's possible to trust someone outside the SGC, she's my emergency contact, for Hannah's sake, even if she doesn't believe it, she'll accept the story that you brought me here and we came straight to the basement and that's why she didn't see my car or any lights on in the house."

"Whatever you say, Carter," Jack started, "I trust you to know all the rules about things you can and can't say, even to your emergency contact."

Carter looked at him like he just won the award for prize idiot, retorting, "I'm not stupid, Sir." Jack was about to cry insubordination when they heard a knock on the front door.

Carter raced up the stairs, turning on lights as she went to make the atmosphere a little less cloak and dagger, now that she was supposed to be home. Karen stood on the front porch, phone in hand, waiting to see Sam's face and obviously relieved when it presented itself. Sam opened the door, smiling, "Hey, how's Aaron?" she asked.

"Great," Karen replied, "his latest endeavor is progressing."

"Swimmingly," was Sam's cryptic reply.

Jack stood behind Sam in the entryway, getting really annoyed now, "Are we done with all the codes yet, Carter? I don't know anyone as safe as you, if this is really your standard safety protocol."

Sam turned on Jack, about to tell him how important it is to have such precautions in their line of work but was forestalled by his hands raised in surrender. Karen saw this as good a moment as any and jumped into the conversation, "So you're Gen. O'Neill. I've heard a lot about you."

Jack looked at the woman on the porch, slight, young, attractive, and smiled. "All good, I'm sure," he smirked.

"Not at all, General," Karen smirked back. She then turned to Sam, "So, if everything is good here, I'll go back. I left Aaron in bed." She gestured to her own house with the phone in her hand.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, everything's fine, thanks for checking. Tell Aaron horses for me." Karen smiled and waved goodnight while Jack frowned in confusion.

"What the heck was that?" Jack demanded as Carter moved past him, back into the basement to finish putting her equipment away.

"What was what, Sir?" Carter seemed genuinely clueless as to Jack's confusion.

"That horses comment, I could follow your little codes for the most part right up to the horses thing, what was that?" Sam thought to herself how evil she could be, using his puzzlement to truly torture him, but decided to spare him and admitted, "That part wasn't code, sir."

"It wasn't?" He asked, dubiously. "Aaron's not a horse, or a rider, or her husband who's as big as a horse?"

Carter had to laugh at Jack's horse possibilities. Chuckling, she said, "No, Sir, Aaron is a five year old who knows the hay is for horses joke. I was asking her to tell him, hey, for me."

The confusion cleared off Jack's face. "I get that," he said, "that's a good code."


End file.
